


nighthawks

by violetholdsme



Category: Pentagon (Korea Band)
Genre: Crying, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Painting, Parallels, hyunggu-centric, im so sorry, yanan and jinho are there if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27543727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetholdsme/pseuds/violetholdsme
Summary: Hyunggu was delighted at the secrets that the dark held. The place was alive because it was lifeless, precious because it held every memory that was forgotten.That would have to be enough.
Relationships: Kang Hyunggu | Kino/Ko Shinwon
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	nighthawks

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is titled after my favorite painting, [nighthawks by edward hopper](https://www.artic.edu/artworks/111628/nighthawks), and inspired by it as well. if you want to get a better vibe for the fic, you could take a look at the painting before reading.
> 
> also, i cried while writing this one but i don't actually think it's that well-written ... lol i just wrote this to release feelings and i might make readers cry not because it’s sad but because it's terrible hdkskd but i hope it's not as terrible as i think T-T
> 
> enjoy and good luck~

_The date is August 3rd, 2015. It is 1:37 AM. The air is warm._

Hyunggu repeats the mantra in his head. He takes in the emptiness of the street he’s walking down, half of his face hidden in the dark green of his scarf. It’s quiet. There is no one here that can stare at him, but the buildings seem to talk, seem to watch. They always do. He keeps his head down as they leer, counting the cobblestones under his feet.

_One, two, three. Exactly where they need to be._

There is only so much in his head that Hyunggu can still distinguish, thoughts blurring into each other on the muddled line of _lie_ and _reality_. He only repeats the mantras, silent and nagging in his mind; for now, they are all that matter. He is only a half step short when a streetlight flickers, telling him to turn the corner of the eerily empty pathways, abandoned by all the life they held in the daytime, burdened with all the stories they tell in the dark.

When Hyunggu opens the door to the only diner still open, the unwatched pot deep within him threatens to boil over and swallow up all of his deceit. But he pushes it down and goes to find his usual spot, a stool by the counter where he can get a good view of all the old pictures on the walls. Tonight, there is someone on the stool beside his一a stranger he had never seen before. _The date is August 3rd, 2015._ He pays Hyunggu no mind as the waiter behind the counter一 _Jinho,_ according to his nametag一asks Hyunggu for his order.

“What would you like tonight?”

“Just an espresso, please.”

Hyunggu lies. He lies, and lies, and lies. Hyunggu repeats the mantras in his head. And when he sits down beside the stranger, Hyunggu lies again.

“I’ve never seen you here before.”

Hyunggu no longer flinches when he lies. Sometimes he even believes himself, letting all the obvious realities fade out into nonexistence.

“I come here every night. I could say the same about you.”

Hyunggu lies when he smiles at the stranger’s remark, can feel the ghost of an ugly feeling creeping up against the curve of his lips. He lies when he looks around at the diner’s other patrons, keeping their heads down and keeping to themselves, telling himself he’s fascinated by the quietness of the hours after midnight, as if the sight wasn’t ingrained into his mind from all the times he had seen it before. Hyunggu wills himself not to sigh, because that alone would be a threat of the truth一a luxury he could no longer afford.

“My name is Hyunggu.” Never mind that _that_ was true. It felt enough like a lie, anyway.

“I’m Shinwon,” the stranger says, finally smiling softly. He waited until Jinho placed Hyunggu’s espresso in front of him before continuing. “Long night, Hyunggu?”

“Yes,” Hyunggu replies, smiling. It was a facade of a smile, at first, until he let it become real. Just a little bit. “I was working on a painting. Wanted to get out of my studio for a bit, so here I am.”

“An artist, huh?” Shinwon says, quirking an eyebrow. “You’ll have to show me your work, sometime.”

Hyunggu hums, taking a sip of his bitter beverage. Tonight is one of the more difficult nights, and what little things Shinwon had said weren’t helping at all. 

“Yes. Maybe I will.”

***

_The date was August 3rd, 2015. It was 1:37 AM. The air was warm._

_Hyunggu needed a break from sitting in the art studio, alone after hours, clawing at his mind for any sort of inspiration he could come across. University was a bitch, Hyunggu’s final piece for his most important class was due in a week, and nothing he had made was good enough or real enough or worthy enough. Nothing he could put on a canvas was fucking_ enough _. So he decided to go look for something that was._

 _He needed some coffee in his system if he was going to spend nights on end laying half-hearted strokes on a canvas, his frustrations and anxieties on display for the whole world to see. Well, maybe just the whole_ school, _but it might as well have been the rest of the earth’s population, for all he cared. He feared he might lose his passion, if he kept going like this; it was one of the risks that came with taking something he loved as his major, but he didn’t think it would catch up to him that fast. He was slowly starting to feel inadequate, with the weight of the expectations on his shoulders, everyone’s belief that he could make something beautiful, something meaningful and profound with barely a lift of his finger. It was no longer freeing. Doing what he loved never felt more like a burden than it had now. It was noisy and it was intimidating. And it didn’t even feel like it was_ his _._

 _But the streets he walked tonight were a different story. They were peaceful in some unsettling way, as if they had a life of their own that breathed in dark, muddy tones_ 一 _a rhythm he would never have been able to hear over the heartbeats and busy lives of other people. Tonight, it was just him and the city. The cobblestones clopped under his shoes, the streetlights flickered in time with wisps of warm summer air in the deep hours of the evening. The scene was of a different kind of life_ 一 _almost a different world. It was the resonating stillness that reigned when he allowed himself to listen, when he allowed the life from under the earth to pulse under his skin, so strong because it was rarely ever heard. Hyunggu was delighted at the secrets that the dark held._

 _Hyunggu was even more intrigued at the one remaining source of light, glaring at him when he turned the corner. He found an almost-empty diner, save for some two or three patrons sipping coffee at the counter, and suddenly it was intriguing instead of mundane_ 一 _a contrast to the darkness of the streets outside, even for what little life it held._

_Hyunggu walked in, noting how none of the people acknowledged him except for the short waiter who smiled warmly, motioning for him to sit beside one of the other patrons before asking him for his order._

_“What can I get you?”_

_“An espresso, please.”_

_The man beside him turned to him, and smiled._

***

Hyunggu hated espresso. That was the truth.

And tonight is one of the harder nights. He lets it catch up with him, the weight of all the lies he tells himself, the lies he tells Shinwon, the lies that the waiter, Jinho, knows Hyunggu is telling even _him_. But he doesn’t let the moment break. Not just yet.

Shinwon had lured him into comfortable conversation, and Hyunggu just nods and smiles and he just wants to _listen_. Tonight, he cannot bear the ugliness of the words that he lets slip out of his own mouth, the selfish, unbearable deceit. It’s too much. And the last lie he tries to tell himself is one of omission, choosing not to dwell on the fact that those mantras of lies had become obsolete long ago, and that they would never be enough. Not by a long shot. Not by any at all.

“You aren’t listening to me.”

Shinwon says it teasingly, with a smirk on his face, _way_ too bold for someone who was talking to a complete stranger一one that he had just met. Hyunggu snaps out of his reverie, letting out a chuckle that was melancholic at best. He knows that when he looks at Shinwon, he’s so close to the edge of breaking; Hyunggu’s body aches in all the wrong places just from turning to look at the seat beside him, seeing only a shadow of the person who had always sat there before. Hyunggu can barely speak, and he knows that all of his lies are beginning to crumble in the moment that he tries.

“I’m sorry.”

***

_The date is October 8th, 2018. It’s 4:35 PM. It smells like disinfectant._

_Hyunggu takes in the glaring brightness of the white walls and the nurses’ white uniforms and the white waiting room chairs and the white_ everything _. He can’t help the fact that he lived a life with paintbrushes and acrylics and watercolor, and it made him see something of a blank canvas in the barren hospital halls. But Hyunggu didn’t want to paint the walls golden. All he wanted was to get the hell out._

_Instead, he let out a sigh of relief when the doctors came out, telling him the good news so enthusiastically that Hyunggu almost convinced himself he didn’t hear the bad. It was only when he walked into the hospital room, staring at the man in the bed, that he let the tears fall, let the pain fill his mind._

_That stupid heartbeat machine thing was beeping. The man in the bed was alive_. _But Hyunggu could only cry when he looked at him, do nothing more except grieve. The heartbeat machine was going steadily, beep after beep after beep like it was mocking him, and all he could do was walk out._

_Hyunggu couldn’t look at him any longer. Not while listening to that machine telling Hyunggu he was alive. Not when it was lying to him. Not when Hyunggu knew, for all it was worth, that he might as well have been staring at an empty coffin._

***

 _I’m sorry_ was a half-lie.

“Why so serious? Are you alright?”

See, the thing about lying was that Hyunggu mastered it on some nights, and absolutely _hated_ himself for it on others. Tonight is one of the harder nights, and the lies were more bitter on his tongue than the shot of espresso. Hyunggu doesn’t know what comes over him but he needs to stop pretending tonight, at least just a little bit, because the fantasy he had built for himself was starting to become a false reality and he needed to remind himself of the truth. The truth of what he lost, of what he can never get back.

“I’m not alright, actually,” Hyunggu lets himself say, directing his saddest look at the man before him. “I… lost someone. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You lost someone?” Shinwon asked, intent. “What happened?”

“He… died.”

Hyunggu never actually knew if that one was a lie or not. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Hyunggu smiled sadly. “ _Oh._ ”

“How long ago?”

“Two years.”

“That’s…” Shinwon paused before continuing, “That’s a long time ago.”

Hyunggu smiles at him, and it’s wobbly and broken as he forces himself to look at Shinwon, to _really_ look at him, this time. He nods, because _yes, it_ has _been such a long time,_ and he wonders how he can go every night lying to himself with mantras and fantasies on the cobblestone path. 

“I met him at this diner, actually. I was a freshman in college, and I needed a pick-me-up to work on a really important painting. He was sitting right there, where you’re sitting now,” Hyunggu points weakly, “and he was the most wonderful person I ever met. He became my best friend. And then he became more.”

Hyunggu instinctively wipes a tear away with his dark green scarf, because truth was spilling from his lips and he doesn’t remember the last night that he’s done this. 

“He was一he was sick. I found out that I never saw him at my university because he was homeschooled, and he came to this cafe when he needed to get away from home for a while. I met his parents, they’re nice people but they can be overbearing, so I understand his sentiment.” Hyunggu chuckled breathily. “But one day they gave me a call and said he was rushed to the hospital and needed surgery, and by the time I got there… he was gone. He was just… _gone._ ”

Hyunggu’s tears were flowing out one by one, and he saw Jinho give him a sympathetic look over the counter. Shinwon placed a hand on his back that only made Hyunggu cry even more when he looked up at him, because his truth, just like his lies一they would never be enough.

Nothing was ever enough anymore.

This is the truth:

The date is November 14th, 2020. It’s nearing 2:15 AM. The air outside of the diner was freezing, and Hyunggu could feel it in his bones as he walked to this very establishment. Hyunggu hates espresso, he always, _always_ has. He knew Jinho’s name from the moment he walked in, recognized Shinwon’s face all too well and knew that he would be there. Just like he had been, every single night before this one. And there was no painting that Hyunggu was working on, because he had never even _touched_ a paintbrush since the day he lost Shinwon.

 _Fucking hell_ 一that was the truth. It was a lie that Shinwon was _gone_. But it was the truth, nonetheless, that Hyunggu had lost him. And he tried desperately to cling onto whatever was left that he could still have.

***

 _“He has_ Anterograde Amnesia, _and_ Temporally Graded Retrograde Amnesia.” _That’s what the doctor had said, and what Hyunggu was typing into a search engine, desperately looking for answers. He didn’t care if it could only hurt him more. He needed to know_ how much _it would._

_A lot, apparently._

_Shinwon asked him who he was, the moment he woke up in the hospital bed. And Hyunggu swore he could physically feel his heart break, listing down in his mind all the things his late night research session had told him_ 一 _Inability to retrieve memories close in time to the onset of amnesia. Limited capacity for new memories. Ability to store information only in short-term memory. Inability to remember significant events after the onset of amnesia._

_“I’m no one,” was what Hyunggu said, before running out the door._

_That was the first lie._

***

Shinwon insisted on walking him home. They stood outside of the diner, bathed in the fluorescent that made its way through the glass window. Hyunggu was still crying, and he couldn’t stop, but he didn’t want to burden Shinwon any further. He was already being so selfish, coming to the diner every night to lie to Shinwon and to himself, and he swore that was all he would let himself have.

But Shinwon pulled him in for a hug, and all Hyunggu could do was sob into his chest. He still smelled the same. He was still just as warm. And Shinwon was about to pull away when Hyunggu stopped to hug him impossibly tighter, and only cried harder into his chest.

Shinwon was confused. Hyunggu could tell by how the taller man went stiff in his arms, but Hyunggu couldn’t bring himself to care. Shinwon always used to forgive his selfishness anyway. _And this time—_ Hyunggu thinks bitterly一 _he would even forget._

“Don’t leave me, Shinwonie.”

Hyunggu’s voice was broken. It never once repaired itself, not after two years of living out the same night. Over and over and over. Shinwon was about to pull away again, but Hyunggu didn’t relent.

“No!” Hyunggu screams it in a whisper, his voice cracking. The moment feels like one of his paintings, and Hyunggu thinks about that feeling of regret after making one wrong move, a single faulty stroke before the whole scene turns ugly before your eyes. But this is worse, and Hyunggu knows it, because if he lets Shinwon slip away then all the colors disappear, not even in slow fade, and Hyunggu will be left with an empty canvas that insists to stay empty. No matter how many times he paints over it. Over and over and over.

“Hyunggu.” Shinwon’s voice is soft, face starting to fill with concern. “Please, look at me.”

Hyunggu does. It almost feels real, like this was the person he lost. Like Shinwon suddenly remembered him, remembered how he loved him, how they loved each other. Hyunggu wants to believe it so bad. But it only lasts for a split-second, before it’s all but gone.

“I miss you.”

It was the truth.

Hyunggu looked up into Shinwon’s eyes, forcing himself to keep their gazes locked even as tears continued to fall. “I miss you so much, Shinwonie.”

Hyunggu is a little bit frightened at the lack of confusion in Shinwon’s eyes, anticipating his next words when the older man spoke again.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Shinwon sighed. “I’m the one you lost?”

Hyunggu just smiled up at him, eyes shut tight, nodding as he let the tears continue their routine, rolling down onto his cheeks one after the other.

“My parents told me about the amnesia,” Shinwon said, sighing apologetically. “They do every morning, apparently.”

“Yeah,” Hyunggu said, more a breathy exhale than anything. 

“I’m sorry, Hyunggu.”

“It’s not your fault.”

It wasn’t. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, and Hyunggu had never found an answer for where he could place all the blame. It left him hollow on most nights. _It was just something that happened_. But Hyunggu could never accept that this man一this wonderful man who he loved the most, this man who was comforting a stranger, for all he knew一just had his life taken away from him and it was _just something that happened._ That never sat right with him. And it never will.

“Do you come here every night?”

Hyunggu paused, ashamed. “Yes.”

“Why?”

And Hyunggu knew how selfish it was to take up all of Shinwon’s midnights, forcing him to get caught up in this little routine of lies just because Hyunggu couldn’t let go. But he loved Shinwon, and that was the truth, even after two long years of knowing Shinwon could never love him back. That’s exactly what he says, because he is telling the truth. Even if it means nothing. Even if it never will, again.

“Because I love you. I don’t know when I’ll ever stop.” Hyunggu lets himself say it through broken sobs. “I want to kiss you, and hold you, and make love to you,” Hyunggu lets out a sad chuckle, “And I lied when I said I was working on a painting, because I haven’t even picked up a paintbrush since I lost you.”

Shinwon stared softly, bringing a hand to his cheek and letting a tear slip out of his own eye.

“You don’t have to keep doing this to yourself, Hyunggu,” he paused. “I don’t want to keep hurting you like this, over and over, without me even remembering. I don’t want to do that to you.”

He said it so gently, so loving and genuine. Hyunggu knows that it won’t last, but that kindness was still there. This was still _his_ Shinwon. It always would be. Hyunggu kind of hates it, because although Shinwon had forgotten him, some part of him never forgot how to _love_ him. And Hyunggu genuinely doesn’t know how he’d ever be able to give that up.

“I can’t do any of the things I want to do with you, Shinwonie,” Hyunggu began. “But the night that I first met you was one of the best nights of my life. So if all I can do is meet you for the first time, over and over and over again, then that’s enough.” Hyunggu was shivering from the cold, and from all the parts of his heart he was letting out into the open. “It will have to be enough.”

Shinwon pulls Hyunggu back into a hug, and Hyunggu could feel his chest shaking with quiet sobs of his own. 

“You have to let go of me eventually,” Shinwon said, biting back a sob, knowing he was breaking Hyunggu’s heart. He wishes it didn’t hurt as much as it did. “You don’t have to keep doing this to yourself.”

“That’s just how love goes,” Hyunggu replied, as his sobs slowly subsided. “You’ll have a place in my heart, no matter how long it’s been. Maybe one day I’ll stop coming here. Maybe one day I’ll even stop missing you. But not today, Shinwonie,” Hyunggu nodded. “Not today.”

Hyunggu finally let go of Shinwon, smiling kindly at him and leaving him with a tight, desperate hug. Hyunggu walked down the same, quiet cobblestone path. He cried a little more knowing Shinwon would forget him again minutes later; but the love in the older man’s voice would be enough to hold onto. Whether or not Shinwon knew it was there, it was enough. 

It would have to be enough.

***

_It was a warm summer afternoon in April. Shinwon held Hyunggu close, the smaller boy’s head nuzzled into the crook of his neck. He smiled when Hyunggu spoke up, feeling the warm breath on his chest, and kissed him on the forehead when he heard what he had to say._

_“I love you, Shinwonie,” Hyunggu said sweetly. “Don’t you ever forget.”_

_“I won’t,” Shinwon smiled, breathing him in, sighing contentedly at the beautiful boy in his arms. “I won’t.”_

_It was the truth._

***

“You finally gonna tell me where you run off to, every night?”

Hyunggu’s roommate, Yanan, was still awake, curled up on the couch watching some documentary on Netflix. Hyunggu just shrugged, knowing Yanan could see the tear stains on his face even in the dim lighting. The Chinese man had seen the sight before, anyway, and he knew not to pry. So Hyunggu settled for his usual answer, before walking to his own bedroom.

“Not tonight, Yanan.”

“Alright.”

When Hyunggu got into his bedroom, he immediately sunk to the floor, but it was okay.

The date is November 14th, 2020. It’s nearing 3:30 AM. The air of his apartment is cozy, the cool wind harsh against the tears on his cheeks.

Hyunggu gets up off the floor, picks up a paintbrush and his sketchbook, picking up where he left off. It was an old painting of a diner, alive because it was lifeless, precious because it held every memory that was forgotten.

For the first time in a long while, Hyunggu tells himself he’s okay.

And it’s the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell i'm just a psych major who isn't a fan of how amnesia is handled in mainstream media? dfshdfhs anyway i'm sorry for this pain. i'm not even sure it's written well but i hope it's okay enough. btw besides the painting i also lowkey was inspired by this [song](https://open.spotify.com/track/5aRlRDvXRuP81qEzKTXQvM?si=0rIWjvZ8Rj-_N2sCFIm1zA) if u want to give it a listen !!
> 
> kudos are appreciated always, leave a comment if you like or yell at me on [twt](https://twitter.com/violetholdsme?s=20) or cc T-T


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